


the art of losing

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Babies, M/M, Teenagers, Who Is Gil-galad's Dad?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 20:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18269129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Both versions of Gil-galad's parentage are true.(Or, how fighting for the future may not be as inspiring as all that.)





	the art of losing

**Author's Note:**

> Written for B2MeM 2019, O66 - Mary Oliver Card - “"We should take small, thoughtful steps. But bless us, we didn't", Russingon Card - Living on Middle-earth.

“Have you met Erienion?” Fingon asked him as they were talking quietly about some contingency of the upcoming battle. Maedhros frowned at him, unable to see the connection between Fingon’s question and the issue at hand. 

“I don't know him,” Maedhros said, “but -- the name? Findekáno, you haven't done anything foolish, have you?” 

“Dear cousin, whatever could you mean?” Fingon said, face alive with mischief. “Come, I must introduce you to the great Erienion, who will surely become your ally as well as mine.” 

Ereinion turned out to be a fat toddler with a dark shock of hair and placid, blue eyes. He consented to be picked up and cuddled by Fingon, though he drew the line at being handed over to Maedhros by bursting into tears. Maedhros handed him back immediately. There had been a time when he had been adept at managing crying infants, but he no longer was. 

“Are you going to explain yourself?” he asked Fingon, who seemed content to fuss over the baby and ignore Maedhros. “Did you kidnap a child? Is that it?” 

“Hardly,” Fingon said. “He’s my son. Well, foster son, but I doubt I would ever be able to send him back to Nargothrond again.” 

“This is Orodreth’s son?” Maedhros examined the boy once again. He could see no resemblance to Orodreth, whom he had met only once and who he had thought of as a rather washed-out version of Finrod. This boy seemed to resemble most just any random member of the House of Finwë, give or take some blond or redhead exceptions. 

“With dark hair, grey eyes, he could be Noldo, he could be Sinda and he is in fact both,” Fingon said confidently. “His mother was a Sindarin lady of the North who traveled with him to Hithlum at great peril. I will soon send her and the child to live with Cirdan, for safety’s sake -- but --” 

“But you could not resist such a trick as this.” 

“You see it very darkly,” Fingon said. He pressed a kiss on to Ereinion’s chubby cheek. “But the fact of the matter is that I’m very taken with little Ereinion here! I wish it was possible for me to properly raise him, to teach him all that I know of chivalry and honor, and of course, the slaying of monsters and how to speak in Quenya. It was the least I owe to Orodreth, and to Angrod too, who was my dear friend. But I cannot.” 

Regretfully, Fingon relinquished the baby over to a nursemaid, who took him away. Both Fingon and Maedhros watched him go. 

“He will be better off away from here,” Maedhros offered. “His is the future we’re fighting for.” 

“Not another slogan, I beg you,” Fingon said with a small smile. “But I know it.” 

There was nothing for it to return to the plans for war, with more intensity than before. 

*

Maedhros met the young Ereinion only once more, during the time he thought that diplomacy was such a thing that could be attempted, to extract the Silmaril from Elwing’s custody. 

If they had finished the deed in Doriath …

He had not expected Ereinion to accept his overturn to begin negotiations for the Silmaril. In fact, he expected nothing more than a blunt dismissal. So when Ereinion accepted his offer and suggested a neutral place for a meeting, both Maedhros’ curiosity and suspicion was aroused. 

Neither Maglor nor Amrod were to accompany him -- if it was an ambush, he would not have any more of his brothers’ blood in his hands. When Maedhros went off to see his young cousin, he hoped in his heart of hearts that some small change could be wrought from all the wasted effort and so much spilled blood. 

His hope, he saw immediately, was mistaken. It was clear from their first words together that Ereinion, had no interest in negotiating. He was young and brash -- he looked so much like his own dead brothers -- _so much like Fingon_ \-- that Maedhros had to turn away from him. It was an unbearable resemblance. 

Ereinion did not take this well. “I wanted to see the infamous murderer, Maedhros Fëanorion, whom my father rescued so foolishly, and so I have. What a wretch you turned out to be! You cannot even look me in the eye.” 

Maedhros did not bristle at that. He could pretend well enough that he had no pride left. “I can assume then that you will not help me retrieve the Silmaril from Elwing and prevent further bloodshed?” 

“The Silmaril is hers, as far as I can tell. You and your brothers may be a law onto yourselves, but after Doriath, you certainly cannot say you have a claim over it.” 

Maedhros looked at him. “You are very young and very foolish.” 

Gil-galad looked back at him. “As foolish as I may be, I will not help you steal a grieving girl’s only heirloom.” 

Nothing more could be gained by such conversation. Maedhros decided to take his leave first. Gil-galad seemed reluctant to let him go, but his own will was not enough to hold Maedhros against his. 

Mockingly, Maedhros said, “Would you kill me to stop what will happen now?” 

“I am no kinslayer,” Ereinion replied haughtily. 

“Careful now, your father was.” 

*

 

As he rode away, Maedhros thought ruefully that despite everything, he did not doubt that Fingon, at least, would have sided with his almost-son in his decision. And also, what had happened so that even Gil-galad did not seem to know who his father actually was. 

But then again, it was not Maedhros’ place to tell him.


End file.
